What if we'd met someplace else?
by TapesAndRecords
Summary: A store, a street, a mutual friend. Not all people meet at work. They're no exception. Now complete, continued as 'Airport'.
1. Piano Store

**A/N: So I had an idea, about Tony and Ziva meeting some other way. Suddenly a load of inspiration came my way, so yeah.**

**I've got more ideas, but if this whole thing seems weird, please tell me and I'll stop. :D**

**Disclaimer: Idea's mine. Concept's mine. Characters, show, not mine.**

* * *

><p>Piano Store<p>

* * *

><p>He runs his hand over the wood, the smooth and cold material slipping underneath his palm as his digits dance up and down over the sanded-down timber, and he smiles slightly at the familiar sensation. Gliding past the black painted frame, he sits down on the cool little leather seat, making a content 'Hmm' before placing his fingertips down. Running through the piece at impossible speed, in his head, he nods before putting pressure through one finger. A single note emits itself from the instrument, and he grins at the sound as it echoes through the small store he's in.<p>

He starts slowly, as he always does, but then gains both confidence and speed, and before long his fingers are flying around, over black and white keys. The piece slows a little, and he so wants to stop and pause and start again, because he always hates this melancholic section and ending. He supposes it needs harmonies and should be an octave higher, but he's only got two hands.

Pushing on regardless, he paces his way through each individual note. He even continues- albeit in a stunned way- as he notes the presence of another hand on the keys, tantalizingly close to his.  
>It's a small, slender hand, of olive color, with shaped nails that shine in the light emanating from above them both. He gulps as his right little finger brushes against her left, and tries desperately to keep his eyes focused on the ivory chessboard in front of him. However, he does see that she has no ring on her left hand, at all in fact, which distracts him far enough to look out the corner of his eye. Typically good luck for him, he's met with the sight of a mass of hair, brown and tangled.<p>

He huffs, and focuses once more on his playing, and only then does he hear the beauty of the music. It's as if he's hearing it for the first time. And it's not melancholic, not at all. It's mesmerizing and hypnotizing and captivating and... infatuating. He's run out of words. And he's almost run out of notes. But it's incredible, the music they've been playing. Because she was playing the harmonies.

He finishes without his normal trademark flourish, and instead spins round to face his mystery musician. Fighting the gasp that threatens to push its way between his lips, he simply smiles at the woman in front of him. Her hair is indeed wild, and her skin is indeed olive, but she's the most beautiful creature he thinks he's ever seen. Her eyes are wide and brown and glint like diamonds, but he can see the years of thought packed behind her irises. Her face is framed in an idyllic way, her curly locks falling like tresses around her features, but he just knows it will do that naturally. And there's a smile- just a little, all-knowing smile, curling at the corners of her mouth right before she speaks.  
>"Thank You."<p>

He returns the thanks, and asks her if she's been playing long. As she replies, he mentally kicks himself for asking such a question as that. He blinks as he realizes she's stopped talking.  
>"Me? My Mom played; I had a tutor as well. But I gave it up until a couple'a months ago. All came back, apparently." He internally curses again, and tries to divert the conversation from piano. "Anyway, how rude of me. What's your name?"<br>"Ziva."  
>"I'm Tony. Nice to meet you, Ziva." he says, his stomach flipping when he says her name. He extends his hand, and she shakes it. He prays to God that he's not the only who felt the sparks as they touched, but as they continue to shake hands he doesn't think he was. Because their hands hover up and down, still locked within the other, almost forgotten about as their owners look deeply at each other. And he can see a little gleam behind her eyes, giving him hope.<p>

However, he doesn't need hope, because they're both stubborn, yes, and both impossible, yes, but they're both captivated. Because she was playing the harmonies.

* * *

><p><strong>AN2: So how was that? /:**


	2. Airport

**A/N: I was a little dumb last time, and completely forgot to tell everyone what I actually meant by this whole concept. I can continue the Piano Store idea, if you want, but as a separate fic. This multi-chapter thing, I intended it to be more of a collection of One-Shots, if you see my idea. So it's lots of different ways Tiva could have met. Does that make sense, at all? It's confusing me.**

**So this is another way they could meet. Feel free to tell me other ways they could meet, maybe I could put your ideas in too? **

**Disclaimer: Deesclaymed.**

* * *

><p>Airport<p>

* * *

><p>She falls into a red chair, backed against a wall, and her head lulls itself into her hands out of exhaustion.<br>"Tired, huh?" she hears someone say, and she looks up to see who spoke. It was a masculine voice, which rules out the woman with a child on her lap, that's situated on her right. It was also a voice that sounded as if it had a few decades behind it, so she dismissed the spot-ridden teenager, immersed in a book, that sat on her far left. The voice also had a joking-yet-intrigued tone to it, so the bored man two seats along, looking at the floor, is not an option either. On second thought, definitely not him since he's asleep. And then she sees him; the owner of those words. He's a handsome man, slouched across two chairs, a playful grin on his lips and an air of confidence about him. His eyes are focused solely on her, so she can see the emerald color of his irises, every time he blinks.

She raises an eyebrow at him in question, but he just shrugs as a response. Normally, she would go to him and tell him to mind his own business. But, maybe because he's cute or something like that, she decides to humor him.

"Yes. I am tired." she says wearily, and wipes the sleep away from her eyes with her index finger, to add to the effect. Though, truth be told, she's shattered.  
>"Sorry 'bout that. I'm Tony." he replies, grabbing his backpack and waltzing over to her in a smooth movement, then sitting in the chair next to her. Once he lets his bag fall to the floor, he offers her his hand. For some reason completely unknown to her, she takes his hand and shakes it.<br>"Ziva." she replies with a nod, and a smile creeps onto her mouth despite her best efforts to hide it.  
>"Zee-vaahh..." he says, rolling his tongue through his mouth as he tries the word out.<br>"So, Ziva. Tell me, where you from? Where you going?" he continues with the brightest grin she thinks she's ever seen, and the way he snaps the second part of her name makes her echo his wide smile.

She makes the decision to see how clever he is, and dodges his question.  
>"How about you? Where have you come from, where are you going, Tony?" she snaps the last part of his name, too, and she notes the dancing shadow in his eyes as she does so.<br>"Well, I was here on vacation, actually. Headed back to Washington. Though I'm actually Italian." he says with a wink, and although there's no denying he's charming, something in her head points out that he took the bait and answered her question, rather than persisting with his.  
>"But," he speaks once more, trailing out the word, "You danced round my question, Miss Ziva. Where you from, all that jazz."<p>

Something re-ignites inside her and she beams at him because he does have an attention span and genuinely seems both interested in her, and interesting, unlike the men she usually attracts.  
>"Well, I am from Israel, on my way to Washington DC. My flight had to stop here because of something being faulty, so I am being transferred." she responds, her smile never really dimming. He whistles in appreciation, and then a husky 'Wow' escapes his lips. They continue to talk until a nasal woman informs her over the speakers, that it's the final call for her flight. He laughs at the fact that they'd both been so distracted that they hadn't heard the call, and then breaks out into a grim because it's his plane too.<p>

They both rush through doors with their hand luggage, and reach the employees with what she assumes is seconds to spare. Much to her annoyance, she's so late that someone has already taken her supposed seat because of stupidity, but she insists it's fine and that she will sit in an empty chair. But, -call it destiny or luck or karma- the only spare place is next to her new friend, Tony. So she sits next to him for several hours, and she finds the whole experience far better than if she had been sat next to a quiet little person and just read a book the whole time.

They talk and laugh and she finds herself a little upset when they come into land and it hits her that she will probably never see him again. But when they walk off the plane, complaining of aching limbs and tired minds, and the city they've just landed in, he says something that she is able to read between.  
>"I mean, DC's pretty big and all, but I guess I've seen people more than once."<br>And she slows her pace and turns to look at him, a small, slightly surprised smile gracing her features.

They carry on talking as they collect their luggage, and he even offers to hail a cab for her. She regretfully insists she can do it herself, and immediately wishes she had accepted his offer the second the sad smile appears on his face.  
>"I hope I see you around, Tony. It's been nice talking to you." she says, unsure as to why her heart feels so heavy. She narrows her eyes as he rummages around in his pocket for something, and then smiles when he places a card in her hand.<br>"Call me, Ziva." he sees, his eyes shining in the artificial light. She is completely taken aback when he leans in and kisses her, just next to her mouth, but she takes the way her stomach flips as a vaguely good sign. Her arm reaches out and she hears wheels slowing down, without even taking her eyes off the man stood in front of her. And she senses that he probably chats up a lot of girls, but that maybe it's different this time.  
>"Goodbye, Tony. Until we meet again." she tells him with her eyes glistening against her will.<br>"G-Goodbye, Ziva." his voice breaks at first, and he clears his throat before carrying on. She enters the waiting vehicle just as the driver is about to make a run for it, and Tony helps her with her bags. She laughs in a melancholy way before she shuts the door and tells the man in front to wait just a second. Rolling down the window, she leans out and sees her friend shoot her a weak, sad smile before leaning in closer as she beckons him to. She rises up in her seat and kisses his cheek lightly, before sliding the window up and sitting back down properly.

Her voice is shaky as she tells the cab driver her new address, and she wipes a lone tear away with the back of her hand. She's not sure why she's crying, exactly, because she has every intention of calling him. In fact, she decides, she'll add his number to her cell phone. Glancing down at the card he gave her- it's still in her hand- for the first time since she received it, she sees it is a business card, from the place that he works at. Her eyes drink in his name and his phone number (one that she hopes she will come to learn by heart), then notices the name of the agency that he works at. One 'NCIS'. Her heart does a double take, and she pulls her barely-read assignment order papers out of her bag, reading the name of the agency she's been assigned to. NCIS. A laugh of part insanity escapes her lips, and she notes what a Tony DiNozzo (she glances down at the business card again to commit his name to memory) thing it is to not even mention Work in the however-many-hours they had talked.

She cradles the little card in both her hands and absorbs the heap of new information she's just discovered.  
><em>Well, Anthony. It seems we will be meeting a little sooner than I anticipated.<em>

* * *

><p><strong>Note: How'd I do? You were all so lovely last time, I hope you don't hate me for this weird concept. I can't believe I didn't say it before.<strong>


	3. Apartment

**A/N: Oh, you lovely people! I got more for y'all!**

**So I had a major exam on Thursday, and I've got two more next Wednesday and Friday. Which is why this update's a little later than I would have liked it. Buut, it's surprisingly long! That's a good thing, right? And I'll even put up two chapters today, alright?**

**This one's an idea I had that I guess is a first meeting, just a bit different to typical ones. But I have more normal ideas, I just can't really write them down easily. I'll get there in the end.**

**Disclaimer: They'll be bruised and drunk but I'll give them back.**

* * *

><p>Apartment<p>

* * *

><p>She knocks on the door a little after ten, and is surprised when it opens about a minute later. Seeing the owner of the apartment, she winces upon realizing she woke him up. His hair's a mess, his eyes are a little red as if just having been rubbed, and he's wearing shorts and a t-shirt that she knows a man of his calibre wouldn't wear when expecting company. Saying that, though, she doesn't really know what his calibre is. She only saw him when she had been bringing another box up the stairs and he was just entering his apartment. But from what she saw, the suit and tie, the perfectly quaffed hair, the pizza box, he seemed like the kind of guy who'd be awake at seven minutes past ten in the evening. Apparently not.<p>

He swallows rather loudly, and she guesses it's deliberate because she's been zoned out for a good half a minute by now. Snapping out of it, she smiles as kindly as she can and hopes she conveys her apology for waking her neighbour.  
>"Hi... I-"<br>"You just moved in, right? Apartment next door?" he interrupts rather sleepily, and she holds her breath until he finishes, for some reason unknown to her.  
>"Um, yes, I did. I was just wondering if you happened to have a phone that I could maybe use?"<p>

She's about to continue out there on the doorstep, but he nods regardless and moves so she can enter. Feeling rather grateful, she decides to explain herself rather than make an introduction, but walks in before speaking more. She gets a little distracted by the state of this man's apartment. Or the un-state of it. It's cleaner than hers, which isn't saying much because of the current amount of boxes there, but her place tends to be the neatest she ever sees. But her neighbor's... It's beyond clean. Apart from the blanket half crumpled over the couch and half splayed on the floor, everything else is dusted and put in lines and makes her wonder if he was the best neighbor to choose. Well, it was a choice between him or the little old lady she spoke to earlier. She assumed the woman would be asleep at this hour.

"I would not ask, but my phone will not be set up until tomorrow and my cell phone is broken." she says as she walks round, and he keeps an obvious eye on her as he rifles through a box and pulls out a landline handset. She thanks him and takes it, and he walks off somewhere as she dials the number.

She wanders to the window as the dialing tone rings, drinking in the lights of this new city; this new home of hers. There are vehicles darting over the streets with glinting headlamps, and there is an almost-constant hum of machinery somewhere or other. Strobes of white shine over the sky occasionally, and it strikes her how very alive this country is, far more than Isr-  
>"Shalom."<p>

She breaks her thoughts and says what is needed to be said, then hangs up promptly and gazes out at the busy town once more.

"Kinda beautiful, huh?" says a voice, and she turns round to see her neighbor- whose name she still doesn't know- standing in the doorway to another room, a cup of something presumably hot in his hands.  
>"I suppose so, yes." she replies, turning back to admire the view. She hears him move closer, but doesn't expect him to put the mug he's been holding, right in front of her face and shake it a little.<br>"You want it?"

She takes it off him before saying 'Yes' and realizes it's exactly what she's been needing. He goes and gets another one, presumably his own, then tells her to sit somewhere.

Seeing his neat-ness, she perches on the corner of the coffee table and drinks some more before holding the now-cold container in her hand, rolling the porcelain between her palms whilst looking deep into its stained interior.

"You're Israeli, right?" he says quietly, and she snaps her head up in confusion before seeing him shrug as he continues. "You were speaking Hebrew, from what I heard. Combine that with the fact you sort of look it, I made an educated guess." She smiles a little at his 'detective work' and nods in agreement of the fact he's completely right. "You're a little far from home, then?"

"Just a little, yes. But I had to get out. My job, my family… I just wanted to go somewhere new. And somewhere safe." she blushes as she realizes she's opening up, almost, to a complete stranger, and all he's done is give her some coffee. She clears her throat lightly and tries to change the subject. "Why… Why am I telling you this again?"

"Because I'm your new neighbor and you think that's what we do in America? Because I gave you coffee?" he pauses as he appears to contemplate the next thing he says. "Because you need to get it out? Because you left for a good reason that you don't think is good enough? Because something happened that you've kept bottled up inside for such a long time and you just need to tell someone."

"I suppose that was just an-"  
>"Educated guess, yeah."<p>

She narrows her eyes in a gesture that contains no malice, simply because he's got it right, exactly, and all he did was ask where she was from. And that's a little scary, for her at least. She doesn't even know his name, for crying out loud. So she hands him the cup back and smiles, then stands up and moves to leave. He follows her, though, a little like a lost puppy of sorts, and leans in front of her to stop her from opening the door.

"I don't even know your name." he says, and she pretends not to notice the fact that he's just read her mind.

"Ziva, Ziva David." And she winces internally, because she's been trained not to tell people her last name straight away. But he just smiles and moves off the door, opening it in the process. She steps out and turns to face him.  
>"Tony DiNozzo. Pleased to meet you, Ziva." he says, offering his hand out. She shakes it with a small laugh, then moves toward her own apartment.<p>

Going to bed that night, she smiles. Because she really likes Tony DiNozzo. And it's very convenient to have him just next door.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I'm not too sure on this one. Thoughts?**


	4. Bookstore

**A/N: And, as promised, another one.**

**I don't know if anyone actually meets this way. It just sort of came to me and I wrote it down. But my inspiration ran out and it ended up being quite short. Anyways.**

**I think my Tony in this one is kind of good and kind of bad. I tried to write him being humorous, etc., but I sorta half-succeeded.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned NCIS, the last two episodes would have been- Oh wait, they were awesome. Screw that. I just don't own it.**

* * *

><p>Bookstore<p>

* * *

><p>He sees her struggling and winces as he sees her fingertips nearly latch onto the top of the spine. She's been at it for at least a minute now; she's on such high tiptoes by this point he's sure she'll topple forward onto the whole case. Debating whether or not to put his magazine down, he frowns and tilts his head in intrigue as she contorts her body in an attempt, he assumes, to gain height.<br>Nobody's offering to help.

He doesn't recognize the title, and the name of the author is so small he can't even see it. But he guesses it must be pretty good if she's spending all this time on trying to reach it. Suddenly, she rocks her feet back and takes a step away, and when she moves forward again, he swears she's going to clamber over all the first editions like it's a climbing wall, simply to reach this one. She doesn't, though, just tries to make herself taller again- an attempt that, unfortunately, does not succeed.

So he leaves the magazine on a handy table and walks over to where she is, his arm reaching higher than hers with grace and ease, and he swoops the book down before handing it over to her with a nod that he seriously hopes doesn't look like a bow. But when she thanks him, he knows he's got away with it.

He leans against the bookcase and crosses his arms over his chest, smiling his best CharmingSmile at her. It doesn't work, though, and he's astounded to discover he didn't think it would. She doesn't swoon, but he hadn't expected her to. She doesn't giggle high-pitchedly, but he knew she wouldn't. She just smiles politely at him and opens the book delicately, the precariously thin paper sliding between her fingers. He thinks about making a comment like 'First Edition, huh?' but he knows he'll get nowhere, so he just continues leaning against the wood until the beam begins to make his back ache. And at that point, he's given up, and just walks back to the table he was at and picks up his magazine.

She wanders across to him, however, a few minutes later, her nose still buried in the book, but he thinks he hears her say Thank You again. Which is totally unnecessary. It's only then that he realizes this must be the most time he's spent in a bookstore. Ever.

He puts the magazine back on the rack and is about to leave when he hears her put something down on the table. Turning round, he sees it's the book. It's a beautiful book, really, of short stories. The cover is a deep green with gold lettering, and the inside is typed evenly with gilded decorations at every corner. The book, though, is not significant, not anymore. Because she's grinning madly at him, her hair falling into her eyes a little, a small piece of paper held in her fingers. He takes it with a wink, and brushes past her, telling her he'll call her.

He doesn't call her, exactly. He texts her. At least once a day, and not too long. She updates him on the book and he just tells her stuff. It's weirdly fun, though, because neither of them know the other's name and are never going to meet again. That is, until he finds he can't handle it. He just kicks himself all the time, for not doing anything more. So he shadows the store. He visits it every day, or stands outside, or buys coffee and just walks up and down the street, consistently. He pretends it's not weird. And then, after forever, she's there.

He sees her immediately, the halo of hair being the main giveaway. And he sidles up to her, tapping her on the shoulder lightly, then offering out his hand.  
>"Hi. I'm Tony."<br>"Ziva."  
>And that was that.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>AN: It's a very lonely little button.**


	5. Wreck

**A/N: Thank you for all your reviews on this! It seems you guys really like this idea, huh? Well, I'm flattered. It seems my crazy brain came up with something people are interested in.**

**Right, people had questions, so I'll answer them here.**

**1) I have no idea how long this will be. I like rounded numbers though, so maybe 10 of these one-shot-type things, if you think that's a good thing? If not, tell me.  
>2)<strong>**I will probably continue with one of them. Just one, mind you, and I have no idea which one of them. When I finish it completely, I'll ask you all which one you like the most out of the whole collection, then continue with that.  
>3)<strong>**I will do ones when Tony's a cop. I suppose he could be in this one, if you squint. Anyways, I'll try to put the situation down more clearly and do more interesting meetings. This one's a l'il intriguing, though.**

**This wasn't a question, but I'll put it here anyways. Please tell me all your ideas, I can't promise I'll use them but I'll certainly take aspects and compile them. Your help is most definitely appreciated.**

**Like I said. This meeting's pretty odd. And certainly an interesting thing to tell the Grandkids. Possibly the oddest one so far, methinks. Massive Note over.**

**Disclaimer: I currently own a laptop, a bottle of medicine, and a cold/flu. Not NCIS.**

* * *

><p>Wreck<p>

* * *

><p>He feels someone press down, repetitively, on his chest, and he wonders if it would be rude to ask them to stop. When he tries to open his mouth, however, he finds his jaw doesn't move. Nothing is moving, save for his body as a whole, which is rocking back and forth as the compressions continue. He gives up any attempt at communicating when he guesses he must be dead. Unconscious, at least, since he's thinking.<p>

The weird, dull state he's in suddenly begins to change and his vision goes tunnel.  
>Dammit it's heaven.<br>Except he hears no heavenly chorus, sees no shining gold gate. Just a chunk of blurred, bleary white that refuses to shake itself. Then, there are warm lips on his mouth and though he can't see much he sees a hazily peach and vaguely brown figure hovering above him, and he assumes that consciousness is returning.

Consciousness and feeling apparently, since he goes from being numb all over to in severe pain. It would be crippling, were he standing up. But he's not. He's on cold, damp concrete, the liquid on which is seeping through his clothes and dampening his skin. Still, though, the strongest sensation he can experience is someone's lips on his, alternating between rough pulses on his chest.

Vision returns first, and the fuzzy outline morphs into a clearer image of the person he presumes to be his savior. She's got dark brown, ringleted hair, framing a beautiful olive-colored face. He can't really see what she's wearing, but there's a woolen item somewhere in the mix. The main thing that catches his attention, though, is who she is. He has absolutely no idea who's saved him.

The next thing that returns is breath. Or, more specifically, the lack of it. He gasps and tries not to choke as air rushes into his lungs, and he wonders why it's always such a peaceful wake-up in the movies. Continuing to regain his breath, he lays his head back down against the concrete after its rising during the coughing. He surveys the heroine, kneeling down on his right, who's wiping her hands on her trousers and purposefully avoiding his gaze. He can see, though, swipes of blood across her cheeks, and it's then he notices two things.  
>The first, her cheeks are damp and tracks have stained them.<br>The second, he's bleeding. He's bleeding, not overly badly but bleeding all the same, and that's why the ground's wet. That's why there's blood on her hands and her trousers. That's why he was unconscious.

Except now he's not bleeding. There's cloth wrapped round his arm, acting as a makeshift bandage, and he can feel little wads of tissue on his hand. And then he remembers. A car. A truck. What else could happen?

She only moves to look at him once, and he notes her impeccable timing as the paramedics scramble at him afterward. But the look she gives him makes him shiver. Her eyes hold a haunted air, confusion cutting through her like a knife. She can't hold the contact for long, he sees, and he wonders just whatever the matter is.

He can't wonder for long, though. An oxygen mask gets held over him as someone squishes the funny little bag to get him breathing. These EMTs apparently didn't get the memo that he's conscious; that he's frickin' awake. They continually take his pulse in an aggravating manner, and make tutting noises at his impromptu bandages. He tries to get the mask off just to alert them of his alive-ness, but a man forces his hand away, and he chooses to stop upon seeing a man try to push a woman into the small crowd that has apparently gathered. At that, he flips.

He wrenches the mask off, and roughly shoves the jerk behind him, off his back. Quite literally. That, however, causes him rather a lot of pain, but he's already created enough attention.  
>"She... comes too." he rasps, before someone shoves the damn plastic over his mouth again and he finds himself being wheeled into an ambulance.<p>

* * *

><p>He wakes up, exhausted, but rather relieved to see nobody's at his bedside or anything like that. Once his friends find out, it'll all turn crazy.<p>

Revelling in the welcome peace, he tries to fit together the past few hours.  
>Crash.<br>Death.  
>Resuscitation.<br>Anonymous woman.  
>Eyes.<br>Mask.  
>Anger.<br>Mask.  
>Ambulance.<br>Mask.

Oh yes, that woman.  
>That woman.<p>

Trying to fight his sudden urge to bolt out of bed and search for the person- whoever she may be-, he waves an arm to get the attention of a nurse. The typical checks are done initially, but she leaves to find the brown-haired girl. Said girl walks in not two minutes later.

**000000**

She sits next to him, looking rather sheepish, and he smiles in a way he hopes is soothing or comfortable or whatever. It seems to work, though, as she visibly relaxes and returns the gesture, grinning quietly.

They talk sparingly, with names exchanged and progress reports discussed, but he finds he has little to say. It's only as a woman in scrubs walks in to inform him of impending visitors, and both women turn to leave, that he realizes he hasn't said the most important thing of all.  
>"Ziva..."<br>"Yes, Tony?"  
>"Thank you."<br>He nods, she smiles, and he shuts his eyes at the closure of this conclusion.

**000000**

When he's discharged, life returns to normal. His colleagues still bug him, he still flirts with many-a-girl, and he's still lazy.

He does, however, take a few moments every day, just to himself. He'll slow down and just be thankful, something he never did before. He never takes anything for granted anymore, and he keeps searching. A flash of brown out the corner of his eye, and he turns. It's never her, though.

Except one time, exactly six months later, he's re-visiting the accident site, defeated in his searching. He's going to stop it. He decides she was just in the right place at the right time, and knew CPR. Enough said. Then he looks up. And she's standing across the street, smiling absent-mindedly at him.

So he walks, carefully, right over the tire marks and straight past where he had been lying, taking great care to stay conscious this time. Her presence is making that more difficult. But he moves; he walks to his brown-eyed savior.

He's never liked trucks so much.


	6. Child

**A/N: Hey y'all! That would sound so much better if I had a Southern accent rather than a Scottish one.**

**Anyways, I'm back with another installment for all you lovely people. Yet again, imma thank you for your support of this wacky idea. It's so nice to see people want me to continue one of these. Remember I'll take a poll-thing after we're done.**

**So this is kinda weird. But I wanted to write a kid, so I did. Heh, that rhymed. The next chapter might be a little different in format, either in tense or person or something. I don't want them all to be similar.**

**Disclaimer: NCIS Season 8 is finally coming to my TV set, after a random delay, in February. I don't need to own it. Beat that.**

* * *

><p>Child<p>

* * *

><p>"Millie!" she calls out loudly, sighing as she sees a small form waddle round a corner. Leaving the cart, she follows after the child in a brisk walk, only to be greeted with an unusual sight. The two-year-old she's been running after all day, is now clinging to a man's leg. A stranger's leg, she might add. And that stranger looks a little confused.<p>

"There you are, Amelie!" she says as the little girl detaches herself from the suited man and totters toward her. Ziva picks her up and rests Millie on her hip, balancing her with ease before facing the still-confused stranger.

"I am so sorry. She keeps running off today!" she smiles sympathetically before murmuring a squeaky 'Don't you' to Amelie, squeezing the little one's nose in the process.

"Nah, it's okay. I think she just got a little spooked." the man says, and she returns her gaze to look at him. It's a proper look this time, and she can't help the way her breath hitches in her throat. The man's incredible looking.  
>He's handsome, but not overly-so, just in a way that catches your attention upon closer inspection.<br>He has incredible, green eyes, glittering mischievously behind his eyelids in a way that makes her just want to know what he's been up to.  
>He's got dusty brown hair, sticking up and swooped round, implying he's just got out of bed and can still look so attractive.<br>The smile on his face is oh-so-slightly crooked and has a cheeky air about it, and just seeing it makes her want to laugh.

She realizes her mouth is hanging open as she stares, and she snaps out of it as Amelie gets impatient and squirms in her arms. The man winks at her and she feels herself blushing, before internally cursing.  
>"Hush, tateleh! Stop it!"<p>

"Mommy! Where's Mommy?" the child murmurs into Ziva's neck, her arms sliding all round it as she moves.  
>"Your Mother made her adventure to the canned foods aisle, little one. She is probably standing near the cart I had to leave in order to find you!" she bumps the toddler up on her hip, turning to face the man in front, only to see his mouth hanging open a little.<p>

"I am sorry. She is always like this whenever her Mother leaves her."  
>"Hmm? Her mo-. She's not yours? " he says, confusion painting its way across his impossibly attractive features.<br>"Mine? Oh my word, no!" she tries not to sound as shocked as she feels. "No, Amelie is my God-daughter. And, my neighbor."

He grins then, and she has no idea why.  
>"Ziva! Finally, why'd you wander off?" says a voice, and she turns round to see her friend Emma, pushing the rediscovered cart with a look of exasperation. Stopping, Emma takes her daughter and places her in between the variety of items scattered on the metal, only acknowledging the confused man afterward.<p>

"You gonna introduce me, Ziva?" the blonde woman says, sizing up the man with obvious eye movements.  
>The other woman opens her mouth but isn't quite sure what to say, so is relieved when her newfound ally answers instead.<br>"Tony DiNozzo. Nice to meet you." he offers his hand politely, smiling just a little.

Ziva takes in this new piece of knowledge and savours it. He's got a very nice name. Italian sounding, emphasized by the way it rolls off his tounge, but she doubts he's completely fluent.

Luckily for Ziva, Emma decides to call it a day. Amelie is screaming by now, an ear-piercing wail, and is threatening to knock over the glass objects she's managed to group together in her makeshift carrier.  
>"Alright, Ziva. I'm gonna pay for these and head home. Thank you for your help today, though, I know she's been cranky as hell." she chuckles before pausing. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow, then?"<p>

"Yes, I do not know what time I will be back. Goodbye, Amelie!" she says the last part to her God-Daughter, then observes how Emma turns to Tony.  
>"See you around, Tony DiNozzo."<p>

Ziva turns back to see this no-longer-stranger flash a smile at her, turn on his heel, then leave.  
>She follows him, of course.<p>

**000000**

"So tell me, Ziva. Where you from?" he says, and she smiles as he slips his hand into hers. They've only been talking for a half hour or so, but she feels impossibly relaxed in his company.  
>"Israel, originally. I moved here a couple of years ago."<br>"And you still don't use contractions? I see that's another thing I gotta add to the list."

She sighs contentedly at the tone of his voice. He's already got four things he must 'educate' her on, with movies the top priority. She doesn't care about the joking tone, because she knows part of it's serious. And that means she'll meet him again.

They long since left the store- now they're wandering down a bustling little street, with tiny boutiques and cute little cafés, and she's amazed it's been here all along without her noticing. Shoppers walk by with bags, some fit to burst, and dart out of the way of both of them. Their fingertip connection does mean they take up most of the width of the sidewalk, but people are gracious enough to move. In turn, she shuffles closer to him. The only difference is, she never shifts back.

They sit down to eat, a small modest meal, but it allows them time to sit and talk, and she calmly notices how he keeps trailing his finger over the top of her hand, and running it over her knuckles, all whilst they talk and laugh and just enjoy themselves.

Eventually, though, it ends. Everything does, though, doesn't it? They stand on a corner, with reminiscent eyes and half-hearted jokes, and she only chuckles when he sheepishly asks for her number. Rummaging round in her bag for a pen, she finds one and writes her number on a scrap of paper.

He grins when she hands it to him, and kisses her temple lightly before spinning round and walking down the street. It could just be her imagination, but he seems to have more of a spring in his step, than she guesses is quite normal, and she bursts out into quiet laughter as she turns her head and moves in the vague direction of her apartment.

Shoving her hands deep into her normally empty pockets, she is astounded to find a piece of paper nestled in the creased fabric lining. Pulling it out, she finds a $5 note. Which in itself is odd, because she keeps all her money in her purse. But what's even more weird, is the many digits scrawled over the green writing. She can't help but smile blindly at that- only he would manage to slip that into her pocket without her noticing, then effortlessly lie and say  
>"I'll call you, then you'll have my number."<p>

Only he would do that. And only he can.

* * *

><p><strong>AN2: Review, tell your friends, paint your nails, whatever suits you best! ;D**


	7. Hooker

**I'm back!  
><strong>**Thanks once again for the alerts/favorites/reviews on this. It's become so much bigger than I intended it to be.**

**Shout out to my loyal/lovely reviewers:  
>mprmusings<br>juli  
><strong>**VioletHawk  
><strong>**WriterUnexpected  
><strong>**ziver911  
><strong>**ILoveTiva  
><strong>**drummss  
><strong>**1Styx and Stones1**

**I know I don't thank all of you directly, but you guys (and everyone else) are the reasons I keep on writing. (:**

**Disclaimer: People assume that time is a strict progression of cause to effect, but in actual fact, it's more of a big ball of wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey… stuff.**

* * *

><p>Hooker<p>

* * *

><p>The wall is cool against her back, and completely icy against the thin strip of exposed skin where her shirt has ridden up. His eyes are a glistening blue, sparkling with sickening desires, and his mouth is curled up in a twisted grin.<br>She curses this mission and all it's worth.

The biting wind clips her skin, the short skirt she's wearing doing little to help her situation, and she grinds her teeth at the sensation. The man doesn't seem to notice, and runs his hand over her chest in a manner that makes bile rise in her throat.  
>She knows she's meant to look like a hooker, but this is just ridiculous.<p>

_Gain the target's interest_, they said. _Get information out of him_, they said.  
>It's a whole lot harder than it sounds- shooting the man would be too simple.<p>

Besides, her gun's in her bag, and her bag's next to her drink, and her drink's in the club. Damn.

The knife at her waist is in a position too awkward to grasp, next to an offensive part of the jerk in front of her. And his hands are gripping her wrists, no matter how weakly. Just a little part of her is scared.

One of his fingers grasps onto her shirt, pinning her arm to her side and pulling her neckline down at the same time. She holds her breath as he releases her arm altogether to pull more material down, his eyes alight at this new discovery. Trying not to roll her _own_ eyes, or make him lose interest, she giggles a little and he looks up at her.

At that, he pushes her roughly against the wall even further, a sudden power and strength taking him over. And he's got more muscle than she thought, because she suddenly can't move.  
>His hand moves up to her neck, trailing down and not-so-subtly brushing against every part of her, until it stops at her thigh and slides round it.<br>At that, she squirms out of reflex, and he glares up at her whilst licking her lips.

Bracing herself for what she knows she must do, she closes her eyes as he lifts more material, not realizing fear is etched over her face. Her leg kicks out minutely, but at that he screams and slaps her on the cheek, moving ever-closer...  
>"Hey!" a voice yells, and her eyes fly open to see someone walking up the alley.<p>

He's wearing a suit, but his sleeves are rolled up messily. He's got a threatening, protective manner about him, and she seems him tense upon seeing her obvious discomfort.

The perp doesn't stop, however, although it's clear that is what was intended by the man's shout, and only continues his movements.  
>"Stop it right now, buddy." the suited man says, coming right next to them and pushing the jerk's shoulder. Neither of them moves, but her target does turn his head.<br>"I said... stop it." her new ally says, reaching to his waist at the same time as kicking his foot out.

The perp falls to the ground, and she takes her opportunity and pulls her knife. He looks suitably scared, she notes, but it's only then that she sees the other man holding up a rather nice gun.  
>He flits his eyes to look at her, and she nods.<br>The guy's dead before he hits the ground.

**000000**

He waits for her whilst she gets her ID, a fact she's grateful for. He didn't just save her a job and a heap of paperwork; he might just have saved her life too.

He tells her he works for NCIS.  
>She tells him she's Mossad.<br>He gulps.

Authorities turn up in large groups and mill around with cameras and tape. She gives statements to each agency, then calls her father, informing him of the complications.  
>Her target's dead and she didn't get enough information.<br>She sees the way her friend keeps an eye trained on her the whole time, worry woven through his gaze.

But then, her Mossad partner turns up, angry and menacing, and she ensures they both run away from the scene before someone dies from a flying knife. She leaves without being able to say goodbye.

**000000**

Only three months later, when she's escaped Mossad's insistent clutches, does she try to find him.

Stepping into the building a little nervously, she asks the receptionist where he will be and gets a strange look along with a visitor's pass. The elevator ride stretches out seemingly forever, but she appreciates the thinking time.

She hopes he remembers her; she hopes he forgives her. She wonders if he's changed at all, because she quite liked the version she met. She knows she would rather like to know him properly. A smile comes to her when she thinks of all his possible reactions.

Then, the doors open and she steps out, shaking for some unknown reason. He's at a desk when she notices him; on the phone and looking mildly frustrated. He looks up, his eyes catching hers and his mouth falling open. She grins as he drops the receiver and almost falls over upon standing up.

He saved her. Enough said.

* * *

><p><strong>Reviews? Thoughts? Issues?<strong>

**Oh, I have a One-Shot that imma post on Tuesday. It's my 200****th**** ep celebration. Keep 'em peeled!**


	8. Storm

**Hello all! Odd day to update, I know, but I have an explanation. (:  
>I wrote this today and wasn't gonna post it until I realized something. I'm going on a little expedition to Scotland (weather permitting, the snow's falling thickly here) and I won't be able to post. Shock horror! I'll definitely be able to write, though, so don't worry.<br>This is a combination of some people's ideas, including my friend Ray who thought of the storm-thing. So I thank everyone anyways.**

**Disclaimer: It's not complicated. I totes own this. Jk.**

* * *

><p>Storm<p>

* * *

><p>There are things he'll never tell anyone; things he'll keep bottled up inside him against all wishes. Not for his image, not for his dignity, but for his sole comfort.<p>

He's terrified of storms.

Rain, he's fine with. Occasional thunder, and he can cope. But full-on lightning, trembling, and constant rain? He's not so good.

**000000**

He's glad he's inside when it starts. The clouds have been thick and dark all day, just hinting at the inevitable, and the reports have been warning people since sunrise. It's gonna be pretty big.

His hand is skimming over various thin boxes when the first rumble emits itself from the heavens.  
><em>Crap.<em>  
>Scooping up a case in order to distract himself, he briefly closes his eyes just to breathe, before examining the item crushed beneath his fingers.<p>

Of all the DVDs in this store, he had to pick Freaky Friday?

_Yurgh, teenage movies._

The bell rings as the door opens, and everything gets sucked into a vacuum of noise for just one moment, before the frame is filled with too much force and the bell sounds again.  
>His head jerks up to see the new arrival, and he smirks at the woman's appearance. She's got a yellow windbreaker on, dripping water to the floor at a rapid speed. Her hair is plastered to her face and neck, almost black from the saturation, and she quickly scrunches it as more droplets fall to their carpeted death.<p>

A grin spreads across her face as she catches his eye, and he briefly wonders if they've met before. Casting all further thoughts aside when she moves toward him, he smiles politely before leaning against the wall in an attempt to be casual.  
>"That is the last time I go running in the evening." she says, and he chuckles in response as she mirrors his position.<p>

They stay like that for a while, until another thunderclap rages through the city. He flinches a little, and sees how she does it too.  
><em>Great. We're both stuck in here, both on edge.<em>

The lightning flashes a minute afterwards, and he feels relief flood him as he notes the storm's far away. She, however, doesn't seem to relax at all. In fact, she jumps once more, fear flashing momentarily on the edge. And then he gets the feeling that whilst she might be on alert out of a reflex, this isn't all that. She's genuinely scared.

"Freaky Friday, hmm? Does not look like your type of movie." she says, and he realizes he must have zoned out a little- she's got a sense of false calm about her now.  
>"Yeah, well..." he trails off, embarrassment rising through him as he tosses the DVD aside, even though he knows she's trying to act collected.<p>

Another groan and bright white, and she flinches both times. He's a little cooler now, the initial shock subsiding as he counts each action and listens to the incessant pelting of the rain.  
>"Y'know, there's a little trick I have with storms." he says, not moving to face her in case he chickens out at the last moment. The rustling windbreaker indicates her moving, and he can suddenly feel her gaze focusing heavily upon him.<p>

Turning to meet her eyes, a subtle shiver runs down him upon seeing her.  
>"Close your eyes." he instructs, surprised as she does exactly what he asked. Placing a tentative hand on her shoulder, he moves closer and talks near her ear.<br>"Count the number of seconds in between each one, and listen to the rain. I promise it'll help."

The first time, she jolts still and he feels her stiffen beneath his hand, still resting on her shoulder. The second time, she flinches physically but stays relaxed by his touch. The third time- the last time- she does nothing.  
>And then the storm has ended.<p>

She turns round to face him with wide eyes and a cheeky grin.  
>"Didn't I promise you?" he says, with a smile as equally mischievous.<br>"Yes, you did. And thank you, you did not have to do that." she replies, and he swears he sees her blush just a little.

She zips up the windbreaker and he feels just a little sad that she'll be leaving.  
>"I'll see you around." he says- a false statement he has no idea of how to keep true.<br>"Yes, you will. I will make sure of it."  
>And with that, she walks to the door not fully knowing how elated he feels. Stopping with her fingers curled round the handle, she turns to face him yet again.<br>"Oh, and you better rent that DVD. I want to see it."

He chuckles as the bell sounds once more, then turns to see Freaky Friday, strewn over the rack as if discarded. Picking it up, he smiles.

And although he has no idea how he'll see her again or even who she is, now that he comes to think of it, he walks to the desk and rents it for two weeks, thinking that will be enough.

It's only two days before he literally runs into her again.

* * *

><p><strong>So I had to put Freaky Friday in there. I love that movie. Plus, Mark Harmon's in it, as Gibbs' polar opposite. It's just too good.<strong>

**Reviews are always appreciated! I'll even send you a computer generated imaginary jelly Doughnut if you want. ;)**


	9. Coffee

**I'm back from my little vacation, hooray!**

**My trip meant I had plenty of time to write, so here's the next one. Can you believe I've only got one more to do? Start thinking of your favorite, people.  
><strong>**Oh yeah, in this, pretend NCIS doesn't have loads of security issues and stuff, I just wrote with major holes in the making-sense department.**

****Once again, thank you all for your lovely reviews, and the alerts, etc. They make me very happy. (:****

**Disclaimer: Ooh na na naa, Ooh na na na na eey…**

* * *

><p>Coffee<p>

* * *

><p>She sees him walk in, just like he does every day.<br>And just like he does every day, he leans on the counter as he orders.  
>"The usual please, Sam."<p>

Sam smiles, her eyes glinting, as she fetches the customer's daily order.  
>The order which Ziva knows by heart.<p>

Four coffees; one cappuccino, one black, one mocha, one simple.  
>One jelly donut, one blueberry muffin, one large cookie.<br>It's always the same.

And she always sits in the same seat, sipping quietly at her latte, promising herself she'll talk to him next time.  
>She never does, just offers him a small smile as he walks out with his hands full.<p>

**000000**

Then one day, he walks in asking for an additional coffee. Sam places it in his hand and he shuffles the paper bags and various cups whilst clearing his throat, then turns to exit. But one of the muffins- or it may be a donut, she's not sure- slides from its position on the pile, and he stops to rearrange the many objects he's holding.  
>And suddenly, she finds herself talking.<br>"Need any help?"

He looks up with a smirk, then shakes his head slightly.  
>"Nah, I got it."<p>

She laughs as if to imply that he most certainly _hasn't_ got it, then diverts her gaze to the milky depths held within Styrofoam, wondering whether that really just happened or not.  
>"Huh, something funny?" he says in a teasing tone, and she looks up to find he's talking to her.<br>Good god, he's _talking to her_.

"As a matter of fact, yes. Because you clearly are having some trouble." she replies, her tongue poking in at her cheek as she smiles with a raised eyebrow.  
>"I told you, I'm fine." he says with false bravado, scooping up the beverages and cursing as another paper bag makes a bid for freedom.<p>

"All right, maybe I'm struggling a little." he admits, and she nods in agreement. "That offer of help still open?"

He shrugs with an air of vulnerability, making puppy-dog eyes to try to convince her.  
>She'll never need convincing when <em>he <em>is involved.

"Of course!" she replies perkily, grinning at him. Standing up, she abandons her coffee and picks up the food items and stray drinks cup, leaving him to carry the four beverages on their own.

"Thank you." he says, drawing out the words to emphasize how grateful he is, in a way that makes her stomach leap in the air. The same feeling happens as he winks at her- his response to her enquiry as to their destination.

As they enter the Navy Yard, she soon sees where they are headed, a large building that has people milling around and walking in and out, either standing at stalls or headed into the depths of the office.  
>"If there are coffee stalls here, why do you go to DC Beans?" she asks, curious as to his being in a store outside such a large base. She also wonders why he doesn't drive in once collecting the coffee, but she dismisses the thought as he responds.<br>"My boss likes one type of coffee, apart from the kind he makes himself. I get him his cup in the morning, and buy the rest of the team's as well."  
>She hums in response, realizing they've reached the entrance and that there's probably a load of security, and stops the already-slow walk.<p>

He stops too, and turns to face her with a thankful smile on his lips.  
>"Thank you again, it was real helpful."<br>"You are welcome..." she replies, raising her eyebrow in question, as she places the bags on top of the coffees and tucks them under his chin.  
>"Oh, Tony. Tony DiNozzo."<br>"Ziva, Ziva David. Nice to meet you, Tony. I would shake your hand, but..." she trails off, looking at his hands, one of which she's placing the extra beverage cup into, with difficulty.

He chuckles slightly, then turns to enter.  
>"Oh, and Tony?" she calls, and he twists his head round to face her once more. "Any time."<br>And with that, she leaves.

The next day, when he walks through the door and orders an extra drink yet again, she's right next to him, ready to hold what needs to be held, and say what needs to be said.  
>And it's much better than when she would just smile.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Review?<strong>


	10. Blind

**Disclaimer: You know you're obsessed with NCIS when you're in a Religious Studies lesson, reading a bible passage out loud, and say Dah-veed rather than Day-vihd.**

**Listening to: The Crane Wife 3 by the Decemberists**

* * *

><p>Blind<p>

* * *

><p>He pulls at his collar as he walks down the street, ignoring the gaggles of people that swarm past him. Checking his phone once more, he swears and wonders why on earth he's doing this.<br>Yet another text comes through with the same words as before, and he replies a quick 'OK', welcoming the distraction.

His feet pound the sidewalk with a purposeful slowed rhythm, trying in any and every way, to postpone the future meeting. But then, he rounds a corner and the restaurant's there, glinting into the darkness.  
>Oh god, he's really going to do this.<p>

"TONY!" he hears a voice squeal, and he crosses the road only to find someone bundling themselves into his arms.  
>"I'm so glad you didn't get lost!" she says perkily, and he grimaces.<p>

"Yeah, Abs. But I couldn't really get lost, not with all of the texts you've been sending me."

"Oh, never mind that! Come in!" she orders, detaching herself from him and dragging him inside.

_Well, DiNozzo, there goes your dignity and your reputation._

**000000**

The restaurant is playing quiet jazz music, and he stifles a groan because it's so damn posh. Deep green tablecloth covers each wooden block, and dripping candles are nestled inside wine bottles. The aroma of cooked meat and seasoning is drifting through the air, confirmed by the plates sitting in front of many-a-happy couple. Waiters are walking round in full black tie, holding velvet-covered menus, and he feels decidedly out of place.

Eyes scanning through the large expanse, he searches for Abby's friend, but without success. Nobody in this place looks like Abby, or anyone she famously acquaints herself with.  
>However, he need search no longer, as his eccentric buddy pulls him toward the back of the restaurant, in the direction of a woman who looks like she fits in entirely.<br>And then, they stop, and he realizes this is their intended destination. Suddenly, this seems like a great idea.  
>"Tony, I'd like you to meet Ziva."<p>

_Ziva _stands up, offering out her hand with an understated smile.  
>"It's nice to meet you." she says, and his insides knot as he drinks in her appearance and repays the compliment.<p>

They order food and drink, but Abby suddenly announces her departure.  
>Truthfully, he doesn't mind.<p>

"So, uh, how did you and Abby meet?" he asks, breaking the ice with what he hopes is an appropriate question for such a meeting.  
>She replies with a lengthy explanation, and he only half-listens, using the other half of his concentration to survey the woman he's only just met.<p>

She's wearing a black, off-the-shoulder dress, made out of some sort of shiny material that hypnotizes him just a little, and he assumes she's got some of those tiny little high heels on, that all women seem to wear. Her skin is an olive color, with honey tones added too, and she gives off an air that suggests she's exotic, which has always been his weak spot in women. The dark brown hair of hers is pulled into an up-do, with only a few curly and tantalizing stands hanging down by her ears, and he has to catch himself before he reaches out and winds his finger through the locks. But her eyes get him the most.  
>They're a chocolate-y brown, accented with mahogany and chestnut and umber and cocoa; dancing with dark mischief but ringing with hidden loss. They hold an inquisitive air to them, but he gets the impression she already knows every single thing about him. And for some reason, other than just the fact he thinks those eyes of hers are windows to a potentially scarred soul, nothing about her makes him like her any less.<br>And that frightens him.

It's over dessert that he feels Abby was entirely right in her decision. Not just her forcing him to go, not just her creating this scenario, simply for being the one to bring a woman as incredible as Ziva, into his life.  
>Because she <em>is <em>scarred, he can see that, but she's allowing those scars to heal. And yes, she's secretive, but he is as well. However, the one thing that impresses him, more than anything else, is her calm.

She's not worried or concerned, nor is she edgy or panicked.  
>He gets the impression that she's let go, for the first in a long time.<br>And that's admirable in his eyes.

So as he catches a cab with her, he has no regrets about his choice to turn up; no doubts about trusting Abby's judgment- though it is often questionable-, and absolutely no thinking he's made an error in doing this.  
>The fact that he kisses her on her doorstep has absolutely no affect on his thoughts. At all.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Oh my word, I'm done. And the long Author's note commences. *clears throat*<strong>

**Alright, first of all, I thank you all for your ever-kind reviews and alerts, they're flattering and helpful and a whole load more, and it's been nice to share this crazy little journey with y'all.**

**Secondly, many people have been saying how 'hard' it will be to choose a favorite. So, I have devised a ~cunning plan~.  
>If, when you've finished reading all this, could you pick your top three favorites (assuming you have three, if not then one will be fine) and tell me in a review or PM? I'll then mull it over and maybe- and I mean <strong>_**maybe**_**- I'll continue more than one. Depending on what people like, etc., and even think of this idea.**

**Thirdly, sorry if this is a bit of a let-down for the final chapter. It kinda sucks, but the idea of a blind date was much harder to write than I anticipated. Plus, I didn't see the point in putting more effort in for the last one than I did for the first one, since everybody else is picking and it's up to all them. (by **_**them**_**, I mean you. Yes, you.)**

**Fourthly, I'm outta here.  
>Thank you once again, it's been great. *bows*<strong>


End file.
